


all I want (one street level miracle)

by little_giddy



Category: Glee
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_giddy/pseuds/little_giddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine at a benefit in New York. 'In his less charitable moments, Kurt thinks that these ‘get togethers’ are part of a truly hideous guilt complex Blaine has about being, you know, stupendously successful in his chosen career.' </p><p>Notes: I wrote this ages ago to get Glee out of my system. Featuring lawyer!Blaine and musical star!Kurt, because I'm derivative like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all I want (one street level miracle)

In his less charitable moments, Kurt thinks that these ‘get togethers’ are part of a truly  _hideous_ guilt complex Blaine has about being, you know, stupendously successful in his chosen career.   
  
He’s having a less charitable moment.    
  
Whatever Blaine’s reason is, it isn’t the sparkling company - Kurt is getting less secure in his grip on his temper and he really is trying to get over the fact that he’s in a tacky, fairy-lit sky bar with roving top up waiters and platters of ridiculous canapes.     
  
Kurt tunes back into the conversation just in time to hear a middle-aged politician’s wife ask him what he thinks of her outfit. ‘Perfect, darling,’ he obliges with a handwave and a smile, ‘the sequins on the mermaid tail really set it off.’   
  
Kurt hates mermaid tails. Between gaggles of chattering people and deciding if he needs another glass of champagne (fuck-it-yes-he-does), he spots Blaine laughing in a group of suits, probably guys from the law firm or other firms in the city, by the east wall overlooking the city. Except they’re in one of the highest open terraces in New York and all of the walls overlook the city. Which would be romantic and lovely, if only they weren’t sharing it with a guest list Blaine swore he’d curated, and most of them standing between them, waiting to tell Kurt how glad they are he’s finally come along, and they’ve heard so much about him.   
  
Blaine narrows his eyes from across the terrace and excuses himself with a pat on the back here, a smile there and a promise to catch up about yeah, yeah, that thing later. Blaine’s walk across the relatively short distance between them turns into a meander, turns into three conversations, during which Kurt is assailed by two couples and a bored teenager who’s just realised that he’s at the same party as Kurt Hummel from Broadway, and his parents had told him this party was going to be boring but would it be okay if he took a picture? Kurt doesn’t mind the last one so much - he’s a sweet kid, even if the parents look hopelessly perplexed by the interaction, almost like they want to pull the boy with the too-long fringe away for his own good. Before he catches glitter from Kurt or something.    
  
And that, right there, that’s Kurt’s last straw.    
  
‘Blaine, honey-’ he raises his voice and positively struts the last ten feet to the next group, who either have something fascinating to say or are holding his husband captive. Kurt flashes them the very falsest of the smiles he keeps in a jar by the door and tugs Blaine’s elbow, slipping his hand just under Blaine’s pushed back shirt sleeve and pressing. Blaine raises his eyebrows very slightly and nods with a conciliatory smile to the group and a, ‘...very sorry, I appear to be being borrowed.’   
  
That’s it smoothed over with a sentence, with a laugh, with something that sounds like an ‘aww’ from someone Kurt wants to throw over the open vista railing to his left, or his right, or his any-side.    
  
Blaine introduces himself very seriously and elicits a name - Ethan. Kurt makes sure to put the kid’s camera phone into Blaine’s hand by way of a lingering press to the palm and pulls Ethan into something like a one-armed hug. Just before Blaine takes the photo, Kurt presses a quick kiss to Ethan’s cheek and the boy positively beams at the camera. Something like guilt snakes into Kurt’s chest at that and he hopes Ethan never realises how much of his kindness was motivated by saying ‘screw you’ to parents the kid shouldn’t have to put up with.    
  
Blaine gives him a look as the family move away, plain shirt and work pants just a little too hot for the summer nighttime, and slips a hand into his. The way he does it without looking down at their linked hands, ring glinting on Kurt’s left, is another thing to add to the pile of things Kurt hates about this so-called party.    
  
Blaine pulls them through the party at a surprising speed, managing only to get them caught in a conversation about an amendment to a ruling that Kurt knows Blaine is interested in, but he extricates them sharply and pulls Kurt through the double doors and onto the stairwell leading up to the terrace. Blaine indicates the dark space beneath the stairs and Kurt nods and slips into the blank, white corridor.    
  
The flourescent lights are almost a relief, despite the fact that they’ll be highlighting how he’s rubbed his temples raw and the bruises under his eyes from all the rehearsals in the past week. It’s throwing awkward shadows across Blaine’s cheekbones and jaw, but it still feels more honest than the candles in over-sized glasses and the fairy-lights upstairs.   
  
Blaine leans against the wall with a sigh and leans his head back against it for a second.    
  
‘The mermaid tail was unforgivable, then,’ he says without opening his eyes. Kurt tilts his head and looks at him - dark eyelashes on skin that looks paler than usual under the lights.    
  
‘The only person who hasn’t treated me like a walking Queer Eye is  _Wes_ and he doesn’t count, because he’s actually my friend,’ Kurt answers with a roll of his eyes. ‘I mean, I know how I look, and by that I mean I look fantastic, but - I’m not actually a stylist. Nor am I auditioning for the role of one to upper Manhattan society bitches I only met, oh, five seconds ago, who don’t actually _know_ I have a fashion problem and just assume I’m their new gay bff in waiting.’   
  
Blaine winces and opens his eyes, taking in Kurt’s thrown together outfit. Dark skinny jeans, light white sweater not quite covering a blue tee below it, feather-light scarf. Killer boots to offset the relative looseness of the top half. It’s a simpler look than Kurt’s sported in the past, but it was only supposed to be seeing him from rehearsal through the subway to their apartment, and he knows it looks a lot less simple when he moves and the fabric moves with him.    
  
‘You do look fantastic. Have I mentioned that?’ Blaine answers with a tug of a smile. He switches sides of the white corridor to put his shoulder against Kurt’s. ‘Can’t believe I’m not the first guy to kiss you at my own party,’ he says, mostly against Kurt’s ear, as he kisses his cheek.    
  
That surprises a laugh out of Kurt. ‘That kid is going to be amazing,’ he says in a slightly softer tone. ‘Thanks for- well, I needed some air.’   
  
Blaine looks around the corridor and shrugs. ‘Honestly, you were less ‘need some air’ and more ‘ten seconds to detonation.’ Flashing little digital countdown right here,’ he says with that same tired half-smile, lightly touching two fingers to Kurt’s forehead.    
  
Kurt pushes himself off of the wall using the flat of his foot and rounds on him. ‘Doesn’t it- how - I mean - how are you so calm about this?’ Blaine watches him pace and indicates to the floor. ‘Ethan’s parents didn’t seem to be drinking the rainbow cocktail or noting the bunting. I wanted to-’ Kurt makes a noise that’s a wordless expression of ill intent and looks at Blaine. ‘How do you stand this every month?’   
  
Blaine sighs from his position sitting on the floor with his elbows balanced on his knees and his hands clasped. ‘You think I’m not pissed by how they look at you,’ he says slowly, eyes on the floor. ‘Like I’m not  _bothered?’_   
  
Kurt nods sharply. ‘No. Yes. I don’t know what to think. I know they’re work friends rather than friend-friends, most of them, but-’   
  
‘Wait, wait-’ Blaine pulls himself to his feet with a bitten back groan and Kurt offers him a hand by force of habit. Blaine doesn’t take a step back when he’s on his feet, keeping his nose inches from Kurt’s and putting both of his hands flat against Kurt’s upper arms.    
  
‘Distracting distracter,’ Kurt mutters, leaning his head forward. ‘Don’t think we’re not talking about this.’   
  
‘We are talking,’ Blaine answers mildly, moving his own head to put his forehead against Kurt’s, ‘do you hear how my mouth is producing sounds? Talking. And now we can do it without you wearing the floor out.’     
  
‘Yet the last time we hashed something out in a corridor, you didn’t stop me,’ Kurt argues back, eyelids falling shut of their own accord. He really is bone tired. ‘I call junior prom precedent.’    
  
Blaine huffs out a small laugh Kurt can feel, because the movement makes his shoulders hunch and relax, and Blaine’s shoulders are attached to his hands, which are still on his arms. ‘Different claimant,’ he replies, pressing his nose against Kurt’s briefly, ‘at your prom, I just had to sit there while you listened to your own very smart head. Now I’m asking you to listen to mine.’   
  
Kurt groans and leans his head back so that Blaine’s forehead finds his collarbone. ‘Semantics.’    
  
Blaine laughs and steps back. ‘You know that that’s not an actual objection in court, right?’   
  
‘The Law & Order remake <i>lied?’</i> Kurt deadpans, stepping back to lean against his own cool wall.    
  
Blaine looks up and puts his hands into his jeans pockets, where Kurt can see his fists clenching. ‘I phoned you to ask if you’d come tonight because I  _can’t_ stand it. And when that jackass asked you earlier-’ He shakes his head and runs a hand over his hair - a nervous habit Kurt’s still trying to break a decade of knowing each other in. ‘And you’re right - most of them aren’t my friends.’    
  
‘Then - why?’ Kurt gets out, remembering the looks and the macho lawyer packs waiting upstairs, suddenly finding it  _completely inexplicable_ that Blaine chooses to do this to himself every third Thursday of the month.    
  
Blaine looks torn. Kurt leans forward and puts two fingers under his jaw to pull his eyes up to his own. ‘Blaine Anderson. You haven’t secretly been going to swinging parties with the Manhattan set, right, sweetheart?’    
  
Blaine leans forward into him again and Kurt feels the flat of Blaine’s hand find the side of his ribcage. For a minute, Kurt’s thinner frame is supporting both of them, and when Blaine looks up, his cheeks are flushed.    
  
‘I thought you’d be mad,’ Blaine answers as Kurt puts his hand against the wall behind his husband’s shoulder. ‘Because you already hate how much pro bono I take on.’    
  
‘Yes, I do, because you will never stop over-investing and losing sleep over things, but I do get networking,’ Kurt says with slightly narrowed eyebrows. ‘How many nights do I have to spend at parties for shows when I’d rather be watching Project Runway or Law and Order at home again?’   
  
‘They’re donors rather than peers, most of them,’ Blaine says with his eyes on the closed door they came in. ‘It was Wes’s idea and I kind of … ran with it.’    
  
Kurt suddenly questions his Broadway life choices if Blaine has managed to concoct a scheme,  _run away with it_ and get tired of it all without him ever hearing about it. ‘Tell me more,’ he says, tucking his hand into Blaine’s and feeling Blaine’s head thump gently onto his shoulder. They should find cool walls  _every_ New York summer, Kurt thinks.    
  
‘Invite only, you knew that already,’ Blaine explains. ‘It’s kind of a salon for politicals and lawyers interested in LGBT rights. It’s kind of-’ Blaine thuds his head back again and Kurt tries to remember if he ever uninstalled that First Aid app on his iphone. He hopes he didn’t, especially the concussion section.    
  
‘Stop being diplomatic,’ Kurt answers. ‘They’re all the way up there and I’ve heard you bitch, remember?’   
  
Blaine grins a little sheepishly before taking in a deep breath. ‘Basically the guest list is special. I know everything there is to know about those people, Kurt - I know how much they love the  _Guardian_ UK website, I know how much they wish their kids had an easier - straighter - life, and I know how much they love being good, open-minded Democrat voters. And I know that none of those things  _really_ make some of them allies when it counts.’   
  
Kurt is beginning to get it. ‘So you use their guilt to take their cheques and what next, Robin Hood?’        
  
Suddenly it’s Kurt’s back to the wall and Blaine in front of him, eyes wide and earnest. ‘I just- I need you to know this, because it’s important. I don’t  _l_ _ike them._ I don’t think they can buy their way out of being horrible people.’ Kurt takes a breath and nods as Blaine does as well. ‘I hate them. I hate that they feel the need to say all the right things and write big cheques but they still wouldn’t want us next door or befriending their teenage kid.’   
  
Kurt’s hand finds Blaine’s lower back and rubs circles there.    
  
‘But they’re dying out,’ Blaine says, eyes on the wall, and Kurt’s hand falters at the grit in his voice, like parking lot gravel between his teeth. ‘Not literally dying. But every single day, there’s more people born that are going to be living out in a hundred ways than there are of them. There’s more straight allies born than people who hate us. And they can’t stand that.’   
  
Kurt thinks it’s the most vicious thing he’s ever heard Blaine say and can’t help but hearing it again in his head - a younger voice saying 'prejudice is just ignorance'. He wonders how worn down they’ve gotten to go from that to, ‘whatever, they’ll be dead sometime.’    
  
‘And that’s how I get through it,’ Blaine finishes, looking up at Kurt with clear eyes. ‘I remember that time is on our side and that their looks and their bile is going to get rinsed out over the next few generations like a bad stain and that we get to  _see_ that.’    
  
Kurt nods and steps back. He doesn’t ask the question on his lips, the one that’s been there since two years before, when Blaine had really started throwing himself into pro bono cases and meetings. A phone call at 2am, Blaine’s mother telling him Blaine’s father had had a heart attack and the funeral would be on Tuesday - if they could make it out. He doesn’t ask how Blaine feels about his father  _dying out_ , just pushes a stray curl away from his husband’s eyebrow. He feels like taking Blaine home and wrapping him in warm things, like blankets and Kurt’s limbs, but he knows better than to offer. It’s enough that Blaine phoned him when he was halfway through cooling down at the dance rehearsal.    
  
‘I’m not asking you to come with me,’ Blaine says quietly, looking up through his lashes, something steely under his soft tone. ‘But I’m going to go up there and charm every last one of them and they’re going to pay me for the privilege. And then Wes and I are going to donate all of it to a charity that helps kids who end up on the streets because they get kicked out by their parents for being gay or bi or trans or whatever it is their parents never wanted.’   
  
He wouldn’t miss it for the world even if he suddenly knows what’s lurking behind Blaine’s fanatical drive to make sure every kid has a better parent than he did and aches at the depth of the hurt there. Kurt stands back with an eyebrow raised and holds out a hand. ‘Are you ready for this?’    
  
Blaine puts his hand in Kurt’s, wedding band glinting on his left hand as he pushes the door open out of the corridor and back onto the stairs.   
  
END


End file.
